Binding Contracts
by Constance Adams
Summary: The tale of a not so normal woman, and her not so normal trip through time and space to Victorian London, to the world of Sherlock Holmes. But it is not Holmes or Watson or even Mrs. Hudson she meets first...
1. Sooner than I would Live with You

Hello, this is my first fic on Fanfiction, and really my first anywhere. Please understand that I don't own Sherlock Holmes, if I did I wouldn't be writing this would I? Anyway, I love reviews! So please enjoy and tell me what you thought about it.Or die.(heh not really but it sounded so dramatic and cool)  
  
He watched her from across the crowded bar, his eyes watering from the thick layer of smoke that seemed to always linger in the air. He would eventually bring her the drink she'd conned him into getting for her, but for now he was trying to do what she did to find things out about her. She was always able to tell so readily about a person, just from looking at them, and he wondered if he could do that. She was sitting at the bar nursing what they both assumed to be a broken finger from the way it was already twice its size and purple. From far away she didn't look as dangerous as she was, hell from far away she didn't look dangerous at all. She looked like a somewhat punkish china doll. She was currently wearing a tank top with a back fishnet undershirt that hooked around her thumbs. She was wearing his army pants since her pants had gotten ripped in the fight that broke her finger. She had a black collar on with steel spikes dangling from thick rings. Through the mesh you could barely see the tattoo on her shoulder, a dragon, and now that she was waving at him you couldn't see the Chinese characters on the back of her hand that read Strength, Adventure, and Mystery. He knew of other tattoos but with her long pants you couldn't see them, and the way she was sitting the one to the right of her bellybutton, he knew though that it was of a four leaf clover. She'd wanted tattoos since she was ten and since she was eighteen she had gone crazy with tattoos and piercings, though only ever on her ears, she refused to get pierced anywhere else.  
  
Her hair was a very the color of caramel and cut short so it hung just a little past her shoulders. Her eyes were brown, a light brown that was like the color of brandy. She was smiling a bright smile that seemed to glow with a light all its own. When all he did was stand there looking at her somewhat lost in though she took matters into her own hands. She cupped her long pale hands around her mouth and screamed across the bar and over the football game in one corner, "Hey Raiken!" He sighed and walked over and she snatched the glass from him, scooping the ice out and holding it to the swelling digit. She seemed so happy it was hard to believe that a moment before when her life had been in danger. She had been coming here to meet him because he wanted her out of her house, away from her books, her computer games, everything that kept her locked up in that apartment. He had heard the yell and come running in time to see her flip her attacker. That wasn't where she hurt herself. Her opponent down for the count and the police on the way, she had waved to him tripped over the body and trying to catch herself it had bent under her weight, crushed between her and the pavement.  
  
Only her. . .Only her. . .  
  
After all how many people could survive an attack by a serial murderer and then trip on their own feet trying to make it to her friend?  
  
He still remembered the first time he saw her, well met her. She was in prison, nothing big, and her conviction was reversed and it was expunged from her record later on. But he was there just for the day and night for indecent exposure and being drunk and disorderly. While there another man had nearly beaten him to death. She walked in and the burly monster stopped and looked at her.  
  
"Hiya Link." She said sauntering over. The joys of a co-ed prison.  
  
"Hello Tima." The man hissed making the name sound more like an insult. She smiled warmly and for a moment Raiken feared she would join in on the beating. Instead she drew closer and Link, more like the missing link, drew away.  
  
"My name is Artimus, only my friends can call me Tima." Her foot flashed and kicked him in the face with the laces of her tennis shoe catching on the wrinkles in his flesh. He fell to the ground but was not down for the count. He grabbed her ankle and she twisted as she fell and her knee rammed into his chest. He coughed up blood and fell. He wasn't getting up for at least a few hours. She looked at him and helped the bloody mass he had become up. "You okay?" She asked sweetly. He was still staring at Link. "Oh don't mind him, he has a stick up his ass because I am the prison champ now and not him. Time to take you to the nurse." She said helping him to walk. And when they came to stairs he knew he could not climb she had lifted him onto her back and carried him. That had kind of scared him but it was also three years ago and he was much more used to her now. He would normally have been able to fight the guy himself but he was in prison for being drunk, and a hangover did not improve your fighting abilities.  
  
He sat down beside her finally and started talking about the normal things siblings from another mother would talk about, their love lives, their free time, and their jobs. Well, not their jobs since they worked together. Finally he brought up the question all friends dread to ask each other.  
  
"How long has it been since you went on a date?" She glowered at him and stuck her tongue out at him.  
  
"It doesn't matter. There are no good guys around and I refuse to date for the hell of it." She said nobly. He sighed shaking his head and laughing a little.  
  
"That long eh? Oh and you have a job. London, some guy wants the guy who raped his kid dead." He said rooting around in his pockets for the PDA he had this kind of stuff stored on. She was rambling before he found it though and in a moment he was going to have to have her look through her pockets, wondering if he'd left it in those pants.  
  
"Gotta love those ones for noble reasons." She said sarcastically. "Oh wait? London? Spiffy. I can take a mini vacation before I make the hit and stop buy for souvenirs after I get paid." She said smiling at that. "When do I get the file and tickets?" She asked just as he triumphantly pulled it out of a pocket in his coat, where he had stored it so he did not forget where it was.  
  
"And how much is it worth?" He asked for her. "Tomorrow and he says at least the normal fee plus expenses, so long as you don't end up buying Her Majesty's Theatre, and a bonus if you can get him charged for the crimes. He wants it too look like suicide, can you handle that?"  
  
"False evidence?" She asked with a sneer of disapproval, not wanting to go on if that was required of her, what could you say? She had her scruples, even if she did profit from other people's suffering. If the person she killed had family she'd usually send them money saying it was a friend or something.  
  
"No, he says just get him in his home and the police will be able to find evidence that will prove it. As apposed to hitting him with your car or getting a car to hit him." Raiken explained. She shrugged and popped the half melted ice cube into her mouth fishing out another for her finger.  
  
"So I get him in his house and they give me more money? Perfect." She said pushing another ice cube against her finger. "Anyone else hired that I should know about?" She asked. After someone had hired her and another hitman for the same person she asked that question for every job as a paranoid precaution. Raiken shook his head. Remembering how when the man had attacked her at a dinner as they fought over the mark she killed him with a fork.  
  
"Naw this guy thinks you're the best, he won't hire anyone else." He assured her. She shrugged and cracked her knuckles, swearing violently when she remembered one was broken the hard way. Raiken laughed and ordered some drinks for the pair, a Corona for him and for Artimus a Root Beer. Yeah, after watching her mother drink herself to death and her brother OD on cocaine she didn't drink or do drugs. "Hey while in London do me a supreme favor and get laid, you could really use a good relationship. I mean the last one you had was in college right before you got into The Business." Raiken told her, as if she needed to be reminded of the last boyfriend she had. That had ended badly though. She had been ready to go that one step further, and he had tried to rape her before she was completely ready. Oh she was fine but it had scared her off men for a good long while and the guy? Well he had faired much worse than her to say the least of it. Artimus was not a bad person, she could just get a little violent sometimes and since she'd been into karate and weapons since she was seven it usually wasn't pretty when she got violent.  
  
They talked until the bar closed and once more Raiken was crashing on her couch. He didn't get stone drunk often, the kind of drunk she feared, the kind that lead to alcoholics, but when he did even get slightly sloshed, the first thing he forgot was where his keys were. Usually in his car, locked in. So since not many people will come to help with that at three in the morning, he'd have to come home with her. Then in the morning she'd use her standard hangover cure and send him on his way. That night though was different. She usually couldn't sleep and mostly went to bed at four and woke at nine  
  
It had always been that way for her, and her body was used to it but tonight she fell asleep and didn't wake up until long after 1 in the afternoon, she'd slept too much and was going to be tired now. She had to get on a plane that night so she threw some things into a bag, her equipment she would buy once over there from a friend of a friend. Before she could go though she heard the phone ring. One of her friends had become a doctor and since she got shot sometimes and normal doctors had to report that she and he had a deal worked out and he was her doctor. Only problem was he knew her well enough to know when she was lying about pain. She heard his voice on the other end, nagging her about her finger, damn Raiken, and asking her to come see him. So she grabbed her suitcase and purse, scratch that it was too big for a purse, it was more like a backpack, and left her apartment and headed to the elevator. She sighed and shivered, she hated elevators, not for any rational reason, she just hated them. Her favorite knife was in her bag, a big old bowing knife from her grandfather's hunting days, and she would probably have to mail it to herself, which wasn't too much trouble, but she didn't like to part with it.  
  
She walked into the elevator and dropped her bags, one hand grabbing the rail and the other pushing the "G" button for ground floor. It moved slowly and dinged past each floor until the shinning doors slid apart and let her out into the ground floor of the lobby. She loved her apartment building. It was probably the last brick structure left in all of the downtown Seattle area. And she loved it, with all her heart, but she did not form attachments. The memories would always be in her head to cherish no matter where she was.  
  
No matter where she was she could call up an image of her home, of the soft dove gray clouds outside her window, the constant rain. She loved the rain, and the storms, that was why she had moved here. Seattle didn't disappoint, for as she headed out into the bustling noonday streets she saw those skies she loved so much and felt the cool raindrops cascade over her flesh. She smiled and pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, wishing away the cold, but not the rain. She stuck out like a soar thumb but that was what she wanted. Plenty of people looked like this now and those who would blame her for crimes because of her look couldn't tell any of them apart, other things drew their attention other than looks. It was a good disguise for her like of work; that much was very certain.  
  
Her black coat covered black pants and a black shirt making her look like she was trying blend in with the shadows themselves. Her hair was beginning to stick to her neck and forehead, the rain forcing it down onto her pale skin. She grinned and giggled as she stuck out her tongue and caught a few drops, relishing in the taste and then continuing on walking a few steps before hailing a cab. Her finger was fine and she had a flight to catch, she had to do the job Tuesday and it was Thursday now so she figured she'd get up there Friday and that would leave her with two days to sight see and one to set everything up and then the job and then she could head out and shop. She was defiantly elated as she hailed a cab and told him the name of the airport.  
  
It was 12 hours later that she actually arrived in Heathrow Airport, which was absolutely teeming with activity, though at an airport that big, when wasn't it busy? She yawned and her eyelids drooped as she prayed for a bed, even a futon would be welcome at this point. She clambered into a cab and muttered her destination. Her head kept drooping forward as she fought to stay awake, not having gotten much sleep on the plane. He pulled up to her hotel and she thanked him and pulled out some money to pay him. She'd gotten it changed into pounds at the airport, and shouldered her bags as she headed into the hotel. She was half asleep as she fought off the valets and headed to the front desk. As unsafe as it was for someone in her profession she just didn't pay attention and wondered to her room, flopped onto the bed, kicked off her shoes and fell asleep.  
  
She was woken by the shrill sound of her cell phone, rolling over and groaning she answered it with a acknowledging sort of grunt. When she heard her doctor friend's voice she asked him what time it was where he was.  
  
"It's about 9 in the evening why?" He asked confused by her odd behavior.  
  
"I'm in London, it's two in the morning here." And then she hung up and turned off her phone, rolling over and going back to bed. She needed sleep, then when the world was functioning and it was a normal time she would go out and sightsee. When she did wake up it was seven in the morning and she hunted around for the bathroom and took a long hot shower. Once done she pulled on her clothes and looked at the map she'd acquired, seeking out the few points of interest she planned to visit and the nearest Underground Stations. That done she pocketed her camera and headed off to her first destination.  
  
~~  
  
It was night, the cool air of the morning had shifted dramatically to be a harsh cold that burned her lungs. She was sitting on the roof across from the home of the man she was out to kill that cold, cold evening. She wore tight black pants and a black skintight sweater, while her hair was pulled back into the tightest bun she could make. She was ready, and everything was planned out perfectly. She just had to wait for her shot. It came and she aimed her gun only to feel cool metal on the back of her neck. There was a soft clatter as she dropped her gun and stood slowly, her hands raised calmly. "Well Morrison, nice to see you again." She said as the pressure was removed and she was allowed to turn.  
  
"Nice to see you too Artimus." He said in that sickly sweet voice of his. He was a rival of hers. One who wished her dead more than to be the better assassin; he wanted to be famous for her death.  
  
She took a step back as she spoke, "You can't win, I'll always be better and killing me will only ensure that. So why don't you cap this guy, it'll be a good start to being officially better than me."  
  
"No. I think I would rather kill you." He said cocking the gun. She took another step back and he grinned. "You wouldn't." He hissed. She tilted her head smiling and flung herself off the roof. She would rather kill herself than give him the pleasure. The wind rushed past her and she waited for the crack to her back that would no doubt end her life. But instead there was a soft thud as though she'd been set somewhere and nothing, other than a soft movement beneath her and a noise much like horse hooves on cobblestones. Terra Firma; she was fine?  
  
She opened one eye and then the other. She was face to face with a man about her height with thinning hair and dark eyes. He was old, about forty and dressed in the finery of the 19th century. She was in a carriage, or was it a hansom cab, and on the opposite side of him. Shrugging she smiled and offered out her hand, which he tentatively took in a handshake. "Hello, I think-sir-you just saved my life. Though at this point I am unsure as to precisely how that happened." She told him as he offered her a thin smile in return. "I'm Artimus." She gave him her name willingly, considering the circumstances, she was more grateful than scared and figured if he was out to get her she could kill him easily, her knife was still tucked on the inside of her thigh.  
  
"Professor Moriarty, at your service." He said kissing her knuckles. "And taking your entrance into my life into consideration I would enjoy learning your half of the story." He said. Well, at least he was handling this as well as she was, though for different reasons. She supposed that seeing a twenty-eight year old woman in skintight black drop from-not through-the top of your cab would be convincing enough evidence, as much as her thanks that she was not dead and so here was better than hell.  
  
"Well I can hardly tell you how I got here until I know where here is." She informed him smiling. Somewhere in the back of her head she knew what the answer was going to be, he did introduce himself as Professor Moriarty, who she should hate since she knew he was bad, but she'd never been into Sherlock Holmes so she couldn't hate him for trying to kill the detective and, well considering her occupation she had no right to judge him. He actually laughed at that, not hard but more than she assumed he usually did.  
  
"Very true. You've a head on your shoulders. The year-I assume you would like that as well-is 1886-it is November 1st and though I do not currently know our precise location I do know we are in London and on our way to Kensington. Now could you share some more about you?" He asked kindly. She sat back and thought for a moment and then shook her head and sighed.  
  
"My story is a bit complex so I would like your opinion on it before I try to understand it myself." She said and he nodding, urging her on in his own way. "I was in London, near Kensington, on a roof doing my job in the year 2003. If you can imagine." She muttered the last part more to herself than to anyone else. He peaked his fingers and sighed.  
  
"What job were you performing?" He asked, looking at her clothing. She smiled an evil, wicked sort of smile.  
  
"I killed people for money." And she sat back waiting for his reaction. His eyes widened and she continued. "Oh yes, it's still illegal, it's just that women may also do it now, if that was what had you so startled." She corrected. He nodded and smiled.  
  
"It's certainly not what I would have guessed though that knife looks quite dangerous. If one knows how to use it." He said as though it were a challenge.  
  
"Well I know how to use it, I can cut you from nuts to nose-if you will pardon the America expression-and then stitch it back up if I have the tools." She responded with a Cheshire-like grin.  
  
"It is refreshing to speak to someone with intelligence, especially a woman. Normally if I am subject to speaking with them it is something I soon regret." He said kindly.  
  
"It is refreshing to be around a criminal genius other than the petty crooks I usually get stuck with." She said, "You're quite famous even where I am from." She finished. He was surprised at first and then considering the other events of the evening he seemed able enough to accept that.  
  
"How much do you make at a job like that?" He asked, trying to make small talk. She relaxed and cracked her neck.  
  
"Well I make ten thousand dollars American plus expenses which can get rather high if I am traveling out of the country. The most I collected on a job ever was just over two hundred grand." She offered. His eyes grew wide and she was quick to remind him of the time difference.  
  
"You know, I think that you and I could strike up quite the deal though I doubt I would be able to pay you quite that much." He offered stroking his chin softly. I shrugged.  
  
"Well being that I am stranded here with no money, no home, and no appropriate clothes I think we could give you a discount for help in those areas, however I do have binding contracts." She said, dropping into her business mode so that she could handle this possible client. The cab halted and Artimus prayed for shock absorbers to be invented before her next cab ride. They got out and he took her hand to assist her down, while the driver looked at her with a cross between curiosity and lust. Moriarty helped her into the small domicile he occupied and lead her to a small sitting room.  
  
"You know about me so I assume that you know about the one man who can cause me problems." She nodded that she knew of whom he was speaking, "Well I would like you to dispose of him for me." She sighed and thought about this for a moment and when she spoke next it was to ask for paper and a pen. He called to his maid and had it brought to her as well as some hot tea. She knelt on the floor before the table, ignoring Victorian manners and scribbling quickly. She often looked up and asked him a question and then went back to scribbling. Finally when the page was full she presented it to him, her signature already scrawled across the bottom next to a space for his own.  
  
He read it over silently and had to ask her a question or two about the language, but in the end it was satisfactory and they agreed. He scrawled his name at the bottom of the paper with a flourish. She took it back and read it over one last time, as was her habit.  
  
The contract said that in exchange for services rendered the party of the first part would pay the party of the second part with money for room, a few outfits that he would help her pick out to fit in around this world, and upon completion of the services of the party of the second part the party of the first part shall present 1,500 pounds. A mutual agreement being reached between the two and he would keep up her lodgings with a yearly salary of one hundred pounds plus a standard fee of one thousand pounds upon completion of any and all jobs completed that the party of the first part may offer. Should the terms of the contract be violated it is nullified and should it be nullified in good faith there will be a severance pay of two thousand pounds.  
  
Then below were some terms about breaking the contract and special assignments. This would be her job here, his private hitman and he would help her adapt in this new world. She had read 'Hound of the Baskervilles' once when she was in the tenth grade and then she'd seen a couple movies, okay, she'd seen 'The Great Mouse Detective,' and then there were modern references so she knew enough about the people but it wasn't as though she cared about any of them. Well, she cared about Moriarty but that was because he was now supporting her completely.  
  
"Until you get lodgings near him I welcome you to stay here, I have a spare room, tomorrow we'll go and get you some clothes." He said standing, she took that as her cue to retire for the evening, and she was tired, so she followed him to the offered room and he was about to present her with a gown to sleep in she waved it off.  
  
"I'll sleep in this for tonight, then we can just pick up a nightgown tomorrow with everything else." She offered as he smiled and nodded, walking down the hall to speak with his maid before retiring himself. She pulled off her boots and pulled off her bra, god she would miss that, and climbed under the covers. She figured to herself, just before she fell asleep, that her first encounter in this world could have been worse. She had a job, she had food, a home, and clothes, hell she was doing better than most people of her time. Math was not her strong suite, but she figured that with the US to Pounds conversion rate and with the time difference she was doing better than she had in her time, more money and hey she had job security here. Back home she just did the jobs that fell into her lap and here she had a boss who paid her constantly and extra when he used her services. Ha on everyone who ever said she wouldn't achieve anything.  
  
She sighed and breathed in the soft sort of dusty scent. It seemed so long ago she had been ready to die, so long ago since she'd gotten smashed in a bar, so long ago since she'd flown to this country from her home. Thoughts along that line though drove her to wonder at what her few friends were doing back there, in that world. She wondered if given the chance she would go back and realized something that surprised her. When she was a child and dreamed about coming to another world as she had done, she always thought she would stay. But now, now this cold shell that was so ready to get up and move if people knew her for what she was, this version of her didn't care. She liked it here because she had job security, a constant salary, but back home she got more money per hit. Home had movies and video games and guns, nice guns with laser sights. What did here have? Here had that security and here had people less equipped to fight back. Here she assumed she was stronger, used to working out, used to much harsher conditions that she had practiced to be the best in a world where plenty of people knew different ways to fight back. She doubted main people here knew to take their house keys between their fingers in a street fight.  
  
~~  
  
She awoke with the pink light of dawn filtering in through pale white curtains. On a chair in the corner of her room was a neat pile of clothing she shook them out and smiled, a long green skirt and a white shirt with blue pinstripes. The perfect outfit for a day of shopping in Victorian London with the scum of the Earth, at least she thought so, she could be wrong, she had often been told that she couldn't tell the difference. She pulled this on, struggling a bit with the articles of clothing she had no clues about what they were. Sighing heavily she pulled on her own undergarments and then what pieces of clothing she could figure out how to pull on and headed out into the hall looking for food. The air was cool in the early morning, even inside and she was grateful for all the layers she had just spent an ungodly amount of time putting on. She finally found the kitchen to see the maid working at making coffee so she set about to help and essentially get her addictive substance sooner. She didn't even bother with cream or sugar or anything she normally doctored up her coffee with and downed it in three scalding sips.  
  
Well that wasn't quite true, only the first one burned, after that she couldn't even feel the next two. She was on her second cup when her new employer entered and raised an eyebrow at the ways she was chugging the substance. She glared and set the cup down. "I need the caffeine if you want me to be able to function." She snapped glaring.  
  
"Catharine? Pour her another cup of coffee." He said looking to his maid who giggled behind her hand. His smiles were cold, but then again so were hers. She liked being able to know that there was someone else out there who smiled though it never looked real. It was not her fault that after years of surviving of the deaths of others that she had closed herself off from the world. When the coffee caught up with her and she found a need to use the facilities she closed the door behind her and sighed in relief, thanking every god she could think of.  
  
"Indoor plumbing." She whispered joyously.  
  
It was another hour before the two were headed out into the London streets. He took her all over town shopping for clothes. She found a nice dress, for dressier occasions that was a deep forest green, plus three everyday outfits, a nightgown and an everyday outfit for around the house. She hated dresses normally and probably hadn't worn one since she was baptized but here it was that that would let people here overlook her and that was what she needed more than anything.  
  
"So why don't you kill this guy yourself it sounds like you're more than capable." She asked as they walked through Trafalgar Square and discussed how he wanted the mark killed. She had found that killing was a highly personal thing and that people always had a dream way for this person who had wronged them to die. He sighed and stopped.  
  
"I think that it is mainly that it is you who is doing it for me. That it will be a woman who is his undoing." She raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest and sighed heavily. He ignored the motion and spoke up once more. "I want him to suffer before his death." He told her, "I want him to be a broken shell when he dies. I do not care how you do it, but break his spirit, destroy him." She winced at the sudden cruelty this revealed in him, not that she was unaware of the fact that he was considered a villain. It was simply that she was used to at least showing the soon to die a little respect. She sighed and took a small step away from him, promising herself she was never going to get him that angry with her.  
  
~~  
  
Holmes was sitting alone in his sitting room playing his violin with more passion than someone who was admittedly without a heart should be able to muster. He pulled the bow across the strings eliciting such sweet sounds that surely someone passing by would think it one of the classics and not something he had just thought up. The sun was shining brightly for the November morning and his apartments at Baker Street seemed so empty with Watson no longer around. He didn't understand what was special enough about Constance to make Watson marry her and move to Kensington.*  
  
He sighed and put the instrument down, and reaching for the seven percent solution he allowed himself on these boring afternoons. Just as his finger brushed against the cool glass there came a knocked at what was now only his door. Knowing that Mrs. Hudson was off visiting her family so he headed towards the door, down the seventeen steps and opened the door himself. There before him stood a woman smiling pleasantly, wearing a hand- me-down outfit and holding a small suitcase.  
  
"Hello, I'm looking for Mrs. Hudson, she is the landlady is she not?" She said in an American accent that was already being replaced with a British one. He looked her up and down and said,  
  
"She's in Liverpool visiting family, she'll be back later this afternoon." He responded. She nodded and allowed herself in through no prompting by him. He shut the door and followed her up, wondering what it was that made people think women were anything but devious.  
  
"Well then I'll wait here for her, I have no where else to go after all." She announced entering the sitting room. "I'm Anna Winters." She said sticking out her hand. He shook it and introduced himself as Sherlock Holmes. He then looked at her and thought for a moment.  
  
"What do you do for a living?" He asked, as though not believing what his well-trained eyes told him.  
  
"Ah I guess you are as good as you say. I haven't quite found a job just yet but back home I was raised on a ranch. My brother was sickly so I learned to shoot, to throw a knife, to do all that stuff ranching sons usually learn. That's why I am somewhat less equipped to survive on my own than others but I would like a chance at being me other than the son my father wanted. So I came here to London and I found in the paper than Mrs. Hudson is renting rooms for my price range so I came to find her. But the paper was well." She pulled it out of a pocket in her coat and revealed it was slightly tattered and looked as though she had found it on the side of the road, which he did not doubt she had.  
  
"So I knew you lived here. I came to see if you could tell me where to find her and apparently you have. Thank you. Now, seeing as it is rather cold out there and I am slightly without the clothing to battle said cold, may I stay here?" She asked motioning to the sitting room around her. He sighed and sat down motioning to an empty chair she sat with a smile and thanked him.  
  
"Are you simply going to move in and hope you get a job?" He asked looking her over. She sighed and shrugged chewing on one of her nails in a nervous habit.  
  
"I don't know how to do much that would get me a job but my father's ranch had some workers from Mexico and I learned Spanish from them and where as that is not as popular as French but it may come in handy to teach children or something. I suppose I could be a writer, I've always wanted to do that." She wondered aloud. Smiling, it was all lies, not that Holmes knew that, the clues all pointed to the story as true, and she knew that, it was why she had chosen the story.  
  
They talked only when it seemed to them they had to for about an hour when I finally returned to the residence, going to check up on Mr. Holmes. I was always afraid not to check on him, he often got so wrapped up in his work he would forget everything but what he was working on. When I entered the familiar sitting room I saw a woman I did not know across from him. Her hair was short and a deep blond color and her skin tanned. She smiled and introduced herself, then asked about a room I had for rent. I took her to see it and the dear absolutely loved it, asking to begin renting it immediately. She was such a joy compared to how Holmes could get. I too often found myself patching up bullet holes in my walls or hiding a burn mark on the floor. Most of the time I would not put up with it but he always paid in full and on time so I really could not complain.  
  
And that is the real story of how Artimus neè Anna Winters came to live at 221 C Baker Street though it was hardly the most interesting thing that happened with her around. No, the whole story is much more interesting than just her showing up at our door. It would just turn out to be a very different adventure than anyone had anticipated.  
  
~~  
  
*If you look in 1886 Watson married Constance Adams from San Francisco and moved to Kensington. She dies then just a year later and he moves back with Holmes until he meets Mary in 1889 and moves to Paddington with her. Okay I really do have a life but this information was collected off the Sherlock Holmes timeline that I bought at the Sherlock Holmes Museum in London. I assume that's right considering the source so no complaints please, though you may complain to the people at the Museum. 


	2. The Harpy Celeno

Okay so I realize the first chapter had some POV issues. I thought that I could fix it but that I would also try and explain what I was trying to do with said POV, seeing as sometimes I assume everyone can hear what the voices in my head I assume are muses are saying. The whole thing was supposed to be in Mrs. Hudson's POV hence all the characters were being referred to in the third person, and then when she spoke of herself it was supposed to be in first person. Rereading the previous chapter I see how mistakes I made (I only chose that idea after most of the story was written in third person) make it confusing. I think I'll just announce whoever is talking.  
  
Next, the fact that Moriarty accepted everything so easily, he is not mentioned in the series much except in a rather biased nature by Watson or Holmes so I had a bit of trouble imagining his personality. But Artimus was wearing a skintight black outfit, she just fell from his carriage ceiling and he has the same abilities as Holmes though whether they are better or worse I could not decide, (if someone knows from the Canon I would love to know which case it is located in) so I made them similar in some aspects and different in others. Now, looking at all the information she has given him and all he has seen for himself I know I would be most willing in that situation to believe what she is saying. Then again I read too many science fiction novels to find much weird. Anyway that was where my train of thought was at the time of that scene.  
  
Also, I want to note that I would have answered any other questions there are but I have only been allowed to see three of what fanfiction tells me are my seven or so reviews. So, hopefully that will be remedied soon and I can answer all my reviews.  
  
~~ Third Person ~~  
  
Artimus-safe to be herself in the confines of her comfortable home-was sketching. Albeit her art wasn't what it normally was, they didn't have the same supplies as what she could get at "Michaels" or something, and that was what she was used to using. But Moriarty had been nice enough to find her a sketchpad and some art pencils. He offered her paint but when she colored her art in it always got worse than the flaws only she could seem to see.  
  
So there she was sitting next to a gas-lamp at-according to the clock on her wall-one in the morning drawing her foot for a lack of inspiration or anything more interesting. Through the paper-thin wall that separated her from the living room of Sherlock Holmes she heard the rapport from a gun and jumped at the noise. She instantly thought someone else had killed the detective and since that was her job it would be bad if he was dead. So, fearing for her livelihood she pulled on a coat and raced to the neighboring home, bursting in through an unlocked door. Holmes looked about as surprised as Anna.  
  
"Oh god I thought you'd bought it." She sighed, seeing the gun in his hand and the feathers drifting to the floor. Piecing together the clues she could tell he'd attacked the couch and he himself had not been attacked. She dropped into a sitting position and sighed.  
  
"Bought what, and what are you doing in my home at this late hour?" He asked furious with the intrusion. She looked up confused for a moment and then laughed breathlessly, partly in joy that she could still kill him and collect her money and partly out of the humor of what he had just said.  
  
"Bought the farm is a phrase to mean someone died, so in saying I thought you bought it I meant that I thought that bullet had found it's home in your head." She explained, the reason behind her sudden visit now quite clear.  
  
"I am grateful you were so worried for my well being but that does not mean that barging into my home is a right course of action." He said dropping the gun onto his desk and starting to look for the bullet.  
  
"Alright then next time I think you're dead I'll just let you bleed to death. I don't care if it was proper or not you idiot." She muttered stretching her legs and preparing to stand. He looked at her and raised one eyebrow.  
  
"Idiot? I am not the one who barged into another's home on pure assumption." He said calmly and she was sure that had he known it he would have said, 'assuming makes an ass out of you and me.' Anna looked up at him, her amber eyes wide, her mouth open. It moved uselessly for a few moments releasing an undignified squawk every once in a while until she finally found her voice.  
  
"That's right because god forbid Sherlock Holmes ever assume anything. He's all about reason and evidence and I am sure that should he think someone dead he would stop to make sure he wasn't assuming before he acted." She threw back folding her arms across her chest. He looked at her and she sighed dramatically dropping her hands to her sides. "I am not going to feel guilty for saying that. I don't care, I am not going to feel guilty because you deserved I-dammit." She muttered the last word and pursed her lips as though fighting against her natural want to pout. "I'm sorry I yelled. But you scared the c-you scared me thinking you were dead," She figured that that sounded right. She'd forgotten she was supposed to be a girl from 1886 even if she was from America, so she figured playing off the fear becoming anger. People always did that, her parents had when she was a kid. So it came in handy now. Of course she had only been worried that if he'd been dead she wouldn't get money and then would be without a job. She forced a smile while she kept eyes worried. "I didn't mean what I said." She was sure she was lying, she didn't feel or worry for people. Her pride thoroughly dented for so early in the morning she drew the hastily pulled on coat tighter around her and proceeded to leave.  
  
"Winters?" Her name was a question on his tongue, so soft that she wasn't even sure he'd uttered it. "I'm sorry for worrying you. It is hard to remember there are people who will worry when I am enveloped in a case." He offered softly. She forced only half her face into a grin that she hoped worked for the latest part she was playing. It was always hardest for her to act like the character she was supposed to be and often she made a mistake like just then and Artimus slid through the barriers. The door shut with a soft click behind her and she slipped into her house with as much silence as she had left the other with.  
  
"Nice one Tima," What? With a name as long as Artimus wouldn't you use your nickname when you talk to yourself? She flopped into a chair in a very 2003 gesture and sighed heavily. "You almost screwed that one up. Don't fight with famous detectives." She chastised herself, though at her own choice of words she was unable to contain the small laugh.  
  
She fell asleep looking like a rag-doll in the chair. Her choice of position would leave her with several kinked joints in the morning but Artimus was an adult, she could accept that, just like she could accept the few and far between hangovers. When she did wake it was eight hours later and only because she twisted and fell out of her bed. She sat up, her short hair falling back into place and into her eyes. She looked around and satisfied that no one had seen that particular embarrassment she stood and walked to her meager wardrobe to pick out what she would wear to annoy the detective today.  
  
~~  
  
Constance Watson was off visiting a friend of hers who had recently given birth to twins, and that left her husband alone for a few days. On one of those days he chose to visit his friend, the infallible Sherlock Holmes. He came calling early that morning, hoping that Holmes was not out already. As he stepped out of the cab and paid the driver Watson heard instead of saw the door behind him crack shut. He turned as the driver road away and saw a woman standing on her doorstep staring at him. Her hair was short and rather messy and her clothes were old but well cared for. She broke into a grin and to Watson's surprise she jumped down the steps and walked up to him.  
  
"You going to Holmes's?" She asked as he was approaching the door. He nodded and she nodded back, taking this in as though it were the most important piece of information ever imparted to her.  
  
"Are you a client of his?" Watson asked kindly smiling at her. She shook her head and pointed to the formerly vacant rooms.  
  
"I live there." She announced. "I was just going up to try and find Mrs. Hudson. I'm horribly incapable of cooking so either have to relay on her too cook for me or take lessons. I figured if she wasn't there Holmes could tell me where she was." The woman explained. "I'm Anna by the way, Anna Winters." She said by way of an introduction. He introduced himself in turn and held the door open for her. They ascended the steps and entered the smoky sitting room.  
  
"Watson! Miss Winters." His voice was a lot less enthusiastic when he responded to her presence. She just raised one eyebrow sighed with a demeanor that said she was far less enthusiastic about seeing him in turn.  
  
"Mrs. Hudson in?" She asked with a saccharine sweet smile in the direction of the detective. He pointed simply with one long finger towards the kitchen and didn't move other than that. "Has anyone ever told you that you really know how to treat the ladies, I mean they must just be falling all over you." She said with that same sickeningly sweet voice. Holmes just stared at her and Watson could only watch at the odd interaction between the two.  
  
"As I am sure the men of London are fawning over you." He shot back. She blinked and though her features spoke of surprise she didn't seem all that startled by his scathing comment.  
  
"Don't judge a book by it's cover." She spat walking away. Watson tried not to laugh at the fact that Holmes was probably more stunned that she had simply walked away from their conversation. From the kitchens came the sounds of a cooking lesson faintly and Holmes just shook his head and dropped into his favorite chair.  
  
"It's so refreshing to see a friendly face after so long an absence." He said breathing deeply of the smoke from his pipe. I in turn settled into the chair I always choice and got comfortable to learn what was going on with this Anna Winters. He told me of how she had come to live there and more than once said, "She's the most utterly annoying and infuriating woman I have ever met in my life."  
  
It was just as he was saying that for the third-or was it the fourth-time when we heard a shout from the kitchen that was Mrs. Hudson and a curse that was from Anna that was followed by a crash. We both raced into the small kitchen to see Anna standing stalk still against the wall and her hip against the counter. Her face was pale but serious, her lip clutched tightly between her teeth while both her hands were clinging to her skirt so tightly that her knuckles were white.  
  
"Will someone please, help." She asked, her words measured as though she was fighting back several emotions. Mrs. Hudson was on the floor as though she had been pushed and she looked unconscious though not from the fall.  
  
"What is going on here?" Holmes asked. Anna was looking past him though out the window, both brandy colored eyes focused on something. "I am speaking to you Winters." Holmes said drawing closer. Watson and he both noticed what was keeping her from moving at the same time. Against her neck was the blade of a long knife and a small amount of blood was staining her collar. Holmes grabbed it by the handle and pulled it out as gently as he could with only a slight hiss of pain on her part. Once the knife was in Holmes' hand she cracked her neck and dropped to help the older woman.  
  
~~  
  
"Good Lord! I've told you three times now, what more do you want?" Anna yelled her fingers digging into the fabric of the couch as she tried to get a reign on her anger. Holmes pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily.  
  
"Because I want to make sure there's nothing I missed." He said for the fourth time. She sighed heavily and pursed her lips.  
  
"Fine, okay you want detail? I'll give you detail." She muttered to herself. "I was standing in the kitchen just next to Mrs. Hudson on her left. I was sort of hunched over her shoulder so I could se what she was doing. She was explaining to me about how to make eggs, scrambled if you're terribly curious when I heard a sound. It was a sort of creaking clack, like when a window is stuck and you throw all your weight into it and it finally comes open and you sort of slam into the top. Anyway I turned in time to see a shadow and I thought he was aimin' at Ms. Hudson so I pushed her to the floor, thinking that that way I could save her. The guy threw the knife and I dodged and ended up the way you found me. The guy had been aiming at her I think because I saw the flash of another knife but nothing ever happened. Want more because I could always tell you what I was thinking about at the time or something, I'm sure that would help in your investigation." She spoke, managing to make it sound as though she had snapped that whole thing. Watson silently applauded her.  
  
Holmes however sat back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together as he receeded into thought. Anna however leaned forward and waited for a few moments before she spoke.  
  
"Who would want to see you suffer rather than die." Maybe it was only Watson who saw it and that thought made him disregard the theory but it looked like she was forming more of a theory than she was speaking. "This person could kill off those close to you, hoping to either anger you that you cannot solve the murders of those so close to him or perhaps to kill the only people you seem to care about." That said she stood, and in a flare of skirts was out the door.  
  
"She may be a strange woman but she did have a point. Do you think that is a possibility?" Watson asked looking at his still motionless companion. Holmes sighed and moved his fingers from in front of his face to his sides.  
  
"Only Moriarty would be sick enough for that but he would not miss. If he hired someone to kill me they would get the job done and someone like Miss Winters would not be able to figure out his plan from but one attack." Holmes explained brushing off the incident.  
  
~~  
  
The door to the study burst open and a angry woman entered, calm and collected but radiating anger. She looked at the older man behind his desk and sat down very primly and smiled. "Ah my dear professor I return to your doorstep once more." She said much too sweetly.  
  
"Artimus, we agreed you would not contact me in person." He said in the same clipped tone he always seemed to adapt when angry. He leaned forward and blue met brown as their eyes met.  
  
"Sir, did you not read the contract? You are NOT to hire others for this job without my knowledge. I nearly gained another hole to breath out of when someone threw a dagger at me!" This time her voice raised as she slammed her hands down on the mahogany desk between them.  
  
"I assure you good madam, I have trust in your abilities enough to know not to anger you. I did not hire anyone else but Holmes has acquired quite a few enemies over the years. If it pleases you I will look into the matter and find out who it is that is behind this." He said with true sincerity in his voice.  
  
"Knowing he is not yours I can take care of him in my own ways and not violate the contract. It is rare that I must pursue a quarry in this way that requires such patients. Practice would be welcomed." She said with a grin that revealed her teeth, sharp looking teeth.  
  
"I would regret to be in the shoes of someone who angers you." He remarked as she left in the same brisk manor that she had entered his study with, all business. She shot one last grin back at him before exiting his study and a few moments later and then his home after that.  
  
He watched the woman through his window, her short hair and sure step setting her apart from the meeker women walking along the streets at the same moment. She stood out and yet did not. You could pick her out of a crowd so very easily but to remember her after seeing her would be hard. She was smart, but she was no match for him. He was Professor Moriarty, the one who had taught the great Sherlock Holmes and no woman, no matter what time she had come from could best him. She may be from a time where women were considered equal but that did not make them great and he was great.  
  
~~  
  
She stood in front of the mirror and made sure nothing that she didn't want to show was showing. She had managed to acquire a gun, a revolver, something she could handle easily enough, and that was tucked away on her person along with six daggers, easily accessible, and one hunting knife that was not very easily reached but once reached would win the fight. Now she felt safe, now she could face the world, even in a frilly and uncomfortable dress.  
  
She'd have to go spend time with the insufferable Sherlock Holmes but while there she could at least hope that someone would try and kill him. Eh, it may be difficult to explain if she went after the attempted killer but she'd get the satisfaction of seeing the idiot die.  
  
She entered the home and smiled at Watson who was still seated beside the fire and sat across from him. "Where's Holmes?" She asked after the small talk that she'd realized Victorians were utterly obsessed with. He opened his mouth to answer when the door opened and the topic of the conversation entered, slightly muddy, limping and rather impressed with himself from the way he ignored the gash on his forehead with such practiced ease.  
  
Both occupants in the room were-needless to say-quite stunned with the appearance of the detective, but while Watson set about trying to give him medical attention Anna was more content to pester him for information.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I walked into the room, or do you want to be more specific?" He asked cocking an eyebrow at her.  
  
"Fine. What happened to make you look like that? You want it in Spanish? Ooh how about Japanese?" She suggested more kind in her joking than he had been. He regarded her for a moment and then swept to his chair in a flurry of fresh snow from outside.  
  
"I went looking about the slums of London for our lady friend's attacker." He said, speaking to Watson instead of Anna. "It was not Moriarty, though word is he has hired someone to kill me." Holmes explained. Anna gasped and a hand fluttered to her mouth.  
  
"Why Holmes! That's awful! What are you going to do if you find this guy that Mortion has hired?" She asked, feigning true stupidity, not to joke to truly fool Holmes. It worked.  
  
"Moriarty and I will try to have him arrested though if he threatens my life I will not hold back from harming him, if he dies he should not have taken the profession." Holmes explained trying to turn back to the conversation with Watson.  
  
"And what if the killer is stronger or better than you?" She asked.  
  
"He won't be." And Anna left to find Mrs. Hudson while the two men talked of the information that Holmes had acquired. It was an hour into the cooking lesson that started between the two women then when a guest arrived at the lodgings. After letting in the Scotland Yard representative that was one Lestrade Mrs. Hudson returned to finish the lesson but her young pupil was leaned against the wall just inside the door listening to the three men talking. She'd missed parts of the conversation but she came in soon enough to hear the most of the case.  
  
"The doors were all locked from with in and the only way in was through a barred window on the roof that I could barely get my head through. She was laying on the bed headless and still in her wedding gown, they want the killer caught."  
  
"Caught Lestrade? Not discovered?" Holmes inquired.  
  
"They think it was the maid somehow, a secret passage or something. They just want you to find her. So they can charge her for her crimes." Lestrade said in his tired, reedy voice. Mrs. Hudson was about to call her back to her lessons when she saw the look on the younger woman's face, the look of concentration that Holmes often wore. Sighing in the way a mother does when she knows what her child wants before even the child knows she turned to finish lunch alone.  
  
"What of the others in this town?" Holmes asked, she missed part of what was said next and strained her ears.  
  
"So they all can give proof that the other was there." Lestrade finished easily. "Does this mean you'll look for the maid?" He asked in an almost desperate voice.  
  
"I will examine the case I will not look for someone I do not know is guilty." Holmes announced. "Give me what notes you have and I will look them over, then I will see if the town needs me as much as you seem to think it does." Holmes announced, and Anna heard him stand. She rushed to the side of the housekeeper and rolled up her sleeves before jamming her hands into the water to scrub a plate.  
  
"I've been here the whole time." She whispered to the elderly woman as Holmes entered the kitchen.  
  
"How much of that did you catch and what did you think of what you did catch?" He asked approaching Anna. She looked at him filling her eyes with innocence. Everyone knew she had been ready to say that she had no idea what he was talking about but she did not get the chance, he touched the edge of her skirts with his foot. "You hid yourself well but you forgot how far this stuck out." He told her as she laughed.  
  
"I caught most of it. I think I want to go to this town. And meet these people and see what's up. That death sounds fishy." Holmes looked at her and she sighed heavily. "America, London whatever. The way the murder was committed sounds suspicious, its so improbable someone with an obvious motive had to have done it some how. You know what I mean?" She asked. Holmes thought for a moment and then after a deep breath he spoke.  
  
"I understand your theory but it is flawed, everyone else had alibis." He told her smoothly.  
  
"Why are you even discussing this with me? I'm a woman isn't death and murder a bit over my head?" She asked, meeting his gray eyes. His eyes said he was startled but his body stayed where it was. "What can I say, my whole world was just twelve people until I was thirteen. I never got out of the habit of saying what I mean." She explained, barely blinking. "So why, you hardly have any people you care about let alone trust I can tell by seeing how you live, so why, why do you trust me?" She asked again.  
  
"Watson seems to think there is more to you than just your foolish American pride. He thinks perhaps some of it is confidence. I've seen you ask question and get an answer for a completely different question. You're devious and intelligent I have to admit. These people are lying, it's a small town and they will cover for each other, your deviousness would probably be an asset." He said. Her eyes widened and a hand pressed to her breast. She gasped and started falling backwards, catching herself on the counter and using the hand at her breast to fan herself as she spoke,  
  
"Did the Sherlock Holmes just compliment a mere *woman*?" She asked in complete awe. He shook his head and started to walk away. "You deserved it!" She said grinned at him as he walked away. So she turned back to Mrs. Hudson who was looking at her as though she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, which to Anna did not make sense. "What did I do?" She asked coming over to help.  
  
"I just don't understand why you insist on aggravating Mister Holmes so." She explained calmly. Anna shrugged and picked up a dish to start scrubbing. She thought for a moment about what she would say and then finally looked to the other woman.  
  
"Because I was raised with a father too busy for me, a brother who was always too sick too talk too much and the rest were men and women and children who couldn't speak English any better than I could speak Spanish so I never had anyone to spar with verbally. It's nice to have someone who's so fun to annoy and can fight back, when he's not so mad he's stalking away." She explained, and even for the real her it was true, well aside from the why she never had anyone to spar with mentally wise.  
  
It was odd going home that night, knowing that in being Holmes's neighbor she'd probably never end up in the series as she knew it to go from movies in her time. Moriarty would be the one who got credit for his death, that was how it was stipulated in the contract since she was a woman. Now though, now she was going to go on a case with him-she was still sure however that he was just joking about that and she'd regret believing that she would get to help-and that Watson would probably write. Would he mention her or would her part be small enough that she would get over looked?  
  
The worst part of her ponderings was that she didn't know which she would rather. She wanted to help, wanted to be a big help on the case, after all, how ironic would it be for a killer to catch a killer. However she *was* a killer and anonymity was her only real friend. So getting written up in something she knew would be famous for years was not something she should want.  
  
She shook her head and shed her clothes of the day and climbed into bed. She fell back on one of the few lessons she had taken from high school. "Lay back, sleep and let the world take you where you fear to tread." She forgot who told her that and doubted it had been a teacher but either way and teacher or no she liked that and let it go to work for her now. She fell into a nice relaxing, dream-free, sleep and woke refreshed in the morning, ready to face the day and solve that murder.  
  
~~  
  
Okay I wanted to end it here to explain a few things. One I do not own the mystery I intend to write. Yozaburo Kanari does, he wrote it for the "Kindaichi case files: The Mummy's Curse." Now, why this drew the chapter to a close early. See that they solve a mystery was really important, I needed them to go after a killer, smart but not Moriarty, I needed them in life and death situations and stuff. So since I was writing this while I had just spent an ungodly amount of money on books and "The Mummy's Curse" was one of them. So I changed that mystery around so that it could take place in London and work in the story line and all that so technically I just used the basic plot and stuff. If you want to pick it up it's good and Sherlock fans will love Kindaichi. I know I do.  
  
So I just wanted to warn you of this now and that if you have by some coincidence read it, it's not going to end the same way. I liked the ending but that doesn't fit, neither does the photos since those were hard to take in 1886 and all that crap and I am going to shut up now and go start on the next chapter. All the plot of this is mine, but the crime they solve is not. There I think I could have just said that and been done with it but I am a writer, if I am not writing I'm staring at the wall so babbling is fun. Try it some time! 


	3. Let Nothing You Dismay

Black Rose---yeah I talked to you already…

March Hare---wow I talked to you.  See this is what I get for responding in emails because I chose to babble on longer than those who left reviews.

Not that I don't love long reviews!  They're just as fun if not funner (that is now a word according to me)

Tessa---Well I will try but you have to be patient otherwise this will be like all the other fics out there.  And I hope that each chapter I add gets better and better.  ^_^

Jo Halcyon---okay so it's not my computer that's screwing up…that's good.

Okay now I am sorry this chapter is short but my computer is being evil.  I had 25 pages to the Seducing Sherlock thing and it randomly deleted it and Dell tech support kept me on hold for 3 hours before telling me to email them my problem because all the lines were busy.  So firstly I am sorry about still no update on that endeavor and I wanted to get this posted before it shared the same fate.  That said here you all go!  And with the problems I BETA'd this myself since my im and email both are choosing to either not work or work long enough for me to get hope.  It's a government consperiacy!!!  AHH!!!!

*hides in a dark corner*

Someone who is good with satanic computers please come to my house and rid the demons from my computer!!!

~~

I stood at the door for a long while just staring at the two before me.  My hair was rumpled and I had a blanket from my bed pulled around my shoulders for a lack of time to find something better.  My eyes burned in the soft light of the early morning.

"What the---What _are_ you doing?"  I asked in a whinny, rough voice that could not be my own.  Unless I was channeling Katharine Hepburn again…but that was unlikely to happen.  "It's too early to be awake."  I told them firmly.  God!  I knew I would regret drinking that much last night, I just didn't think it would be this soon.  Watson was looking at his feet and Holmes was sniffing the air lightly.

"Are you drunk madam?"  He asked surprised.  I closed my eyes tightly and pressed a cool hand against my throbbing forehead.  I felt like a train had hit me, several times.  This is what I get for trying to cure that flip flopping stomachache the Russian way.  For those who don't know my roommate in college was Russian and she held the firm belief---along with her family, which I met at Christmas---that anything could be cured with enough alcohol.

"No, I'm completely cognizant, I just have a headache strong enough to kill several horses."  I told him simply, figuring that saying I was hung over would be less than appropriate in this time.

"We're leaving for the town soon, are you going to come or not?"  He asked.  I squinted at him and resisted the urge to kill him right there.  I nodded, and groaned, regretting the movement.  He nodded and said something I missed though it sounded like "If you're not there in---we'll leave without you."  But it could have been my imagination.

"I'll bring you some medicine for that headache."  Watson said with a kind smile thrown my way as he left after the detective.  I closed the door and as regally as I could I walked a little unsteadily to the small bathroom where I knelt and violently emptied every last thing out of my stomach the hard way.  Feeling better already I washed my face and threw what little I had into a suitcase and then pulled on the last outfit in my closet fit for the time.  Within fifteen minutes I was ready, my head hurt even more now, but I was ready to go.  I exited and kicked at the door of the flat next to mine angry that I had hurried and even in my hung over state had beaten the two.

I was allowed in to the residence and found Holmes was sitting patiently in his chair sipping tea.  I glared at him until Watson offered me medication.  "Now it's got a vile taste---" I cut him off by downing the whole cup in a single gulp.  Take that college drinking bets.  Tears sprung to my eyes and I started hacking.  Had my throat not been so tight I would have blown my cover right there with the profanities I would have uttered.  At least this was better that those butterflies I kept getting in my stomach, it was like I cared or something.  

Within an hour we were in a carriage and heading towards the village while listening to Lestrade ramble about the history…

~~

The small village had been founded by six rich families and a Rabbi plus his wife, they wanted to create a Utopia all their own.  Then if it worked, they would make it larger.  It hadn't, the temple had burnt down and the Rabbi and his wife perished inside.  Without their religious leader the village merely became a group of six families living farther from town than they would in a normal village.  It was called Roanoke, pause a moment while I relive that particular American ghost story.  Yes, Roanoke was an island in the New World, and there's a scary ghost story that goes with it, I hated it as a kid to let you know, only because it always got me shivering.  It's long so I won't go into detail here but you can look it up if you like.  Sorry I lost my train of thought.

Anyway, the town was called Roanoke and it was situated in the valley at the base of a mountain.  The ride up there had been absolute hell---and my headache was gone so it was just the ride that was bad---I will not lie, Holmes and Watson and Lestrade and I were all cramped in there and I wished that if the carriages didn't have shock absorbers that the dress I was wearing did.  My wish was not granted.  I had managed to procure a seat near the window so I got to see the scenery, let me tell you, if you have never seen an English forest in the middle of fall you really need to some time.  It's a riot of color against a dove gray sky and the sweet and spicy smell of the leaves fills your lungs and your nose and everything all around you.  The sharp cold was not my favorite but it made even the palest of cheeks turn a soft red color and Holmes looked a lot less pale for it so I didn't wish it away.  

We reached the top of the mountain, the trees having long since given away to rocks and the driver reigned in the horses.  "Sorry ta' be disturbin' ya sirs—and ma'am—but from up 'ere you can see all of the village.  Makes you feel like a right ol' king it does."  He said.  I don't like sitting still and I had been trapped in a small box for the better part of eight hours, I fairly flew out of that cab and stopped, mid stride at what I saw.  Against my will I gasped as the driver smiled from his perch and muttered something I know could not have been "I told you so."  

The three men came to my side and I would have spoken but Holmes took the words from my mouth.  "It's a Star of David."  He said and his cold voice did not betray the awe I knew had to be there.  Before us lay the village of Roanoke.  The roads were thick enough that from this height—where everything looked like toys—you could see them clearly.  The roads all connected to form one large Star of David.  In each point was one large mansion and in the very center, with smaller, thinner roads radiating from it was the rubble of the old temple, though strangely enough it did not look like rubble, it looked a little old but not rubble.  

I could tell Watson was writing the scene in his head as he surveyed it, I knew because I was probably sharing the look.  It was so unbelievable that it was almost surreal.  The homes and village were all surrounded by trees, trees that were on fire with the colors of fall.  I was freezing and wrapped my small arms around myself for warmth, not wanting to leave before I had committed the sight to memory.  Finally though we were ushered back into the small cab and continued the slightly smoother journey down into the village itself.  That was a lot less bumpy, or maybe by then my rear had already gone numb.  Either way within the hour we had reached the small village and ignoring the fact I had gotten squished in the center I leaned over Holmes to peer out the window at the home we were driving past.  All the windows weren't normal windows, they were stained glass, all different patters and so beautiful it was like a faerie tale mansion.  Before Holmes pushed me back into my seat I saw that on a big blank wall was a Star of David but with the lower left triangle missing, so instead of six points there were five and one flat side.  I stored that away for a later date and around five minutes later when we started passing a second house I was glad I had.  This house had a huge and prominent weathervane on the highest tower.  This one also had a pseudo-star of David, but with the upper left triangle missing.  I sighed and sat back while we headed into the drive and stopped.  I supposed that it was here we would be staying but I don't think it took any real intelligence to figure that out.

The man who came out to greet us was tall, not as tall as Holmes but defiantly tall.  He had well kept blond hair and blue eyes and high cheekbones.  The look was a little ruined with the huge Italian handlebar mustache thing he had going.  Holmes got out first and then I followed, the blond grabbed my hand and helped me down, which as much as I am for the feminist movement was nice since I doubted I could have after so long a time sitting coupled with the dress.

Watson and Lestrade filed out next in that order and the man bowed, introducing himself.  "I am Gustav Windom, and welcome to my home."   He took my hand and kissed the knuckles gently.  I wanted to scrub it off on my dress but decided that would be more than a little rude so held back.  He led us inside while some of his servants attended to our baggage.  "Miranda here will show you to your rooms."  He said as an older woman approached us.  "But be warned, do not wonder the house alone, I cannot say what may happen to you."  And with that melodramatic little speech he disappeared to prepare for what Miranda said was a dinner party for us all to meet the others of the town.

She went on to say that we had a good five hours to get ready so if we wanted Mr. Windom had invited us to his study, which she would show us if we wanted.  She showed us our rooms then.  Watson, Lestrade and Holmes were all along one side, their rooms all right next to each other.  Lucky.  Mine was around a corner and down at the end of the hall.  I sat in the room looking at my one bag for a moment and then shook my head.  I stood and headed out to go exploring.  I stayed close to the wall; going for the theory that if you keep your hand on the wall and follow it that eventually you'll return to where you started.

Looking back I sort of wish I had never learned that little tidbit.  For as I turned the corner I slammed into someone coming from the other side and fell backwards.  Luckily Holmes caught my hand and pulled me up before I hit the ground or that could have been really embarrassing.  "Jesus you scared me."  I gasped.  He raised one eyebrow at my language, opps, and then let it go.

"What are you doing?"  He asked.  I shrugged and explained I was bored so I was off to investigate the rest of the house we were staying in.  "We were told not to go off on our own."  He pointed out. 

"He said if we did he didn't know what would happen to us, I don't care about the consequences so I'm off to explore."  I said trying to get past him.  I tripped over a fold in the carpet and went flying into the wall, which for some reason flew away from me and sent me careening into darkness I landed against something soft and groaned.

"Winters?  Are you alright?"  I heard Holmes as light from the hall filtered down.  I sat up and I stretched muttering a yes of course as I looked around to see where I had landed.  The first thing I saw what looked to be a mummified corpse, and after a moment of frozen terror in which I inspected it, it turned out to be a headless mummy.  Now yes I deal in death, but I am not okay with corpses that are two inches from my face.  That really kind of creeps me out. So I screamed and tried to scramble backwards up the stairs.  Thank god it was more of a shout that a scream, if it had been a real official scream I would have still been screaming when I reached the top of the stairs. "What's wrong?"  Holmes asked almost sounding worried as he grabbed my shoulders to keep me from bolting down the hall, which to this day I swear I did not realize I was ready to do.

Unable to resist a sarcastic remark—I think it's my American upbringing—I said, "I've heard of skeletons in the closet but mummies in the basement is new to me."  He looked at me with a look of mixed disbelief, disgust and I think I saw a little amusement in there but that could have been the alcohol still muddling my senses.  I pointed down into the darkness with a 'you don't believe me, go look yourself' look in response.

After he inspected it and determined that it was a real mummy, I still think I had a close enough look to know if it was real or not, he and I had to ban together like good little boy scouts to shut the hulking door and stood in the hall just looking at each other for a long while.

"Albeit I didn't have the best look at it, the body looked a good hundred years old.  At least."  I finally said, looking more to break the suddenly very awkward silence that had fallen between us, though where _that _came from I do not know.

"I would think that even a woman who grew up in circumstances like yours would be more than a little disturbed by finding herself face to face with a corpse.  What are you not telling me?"  He asked.  I looked at him and told him the truth for the first time we were together, and I hoped it would be the last too.  I hated telling the truth, it was so _uncreative_.

"To tell the absolute truth, I was so surprised to see it I couldn't believe it was real.  I could not think that was a real human, I thought of it more like I was seeing rotting food or something.  Now that I'm not looking at it I can believe it but be okay with it.  I guess that probably makes no sense at all but…" I let it trail off and he looked behind me at where the door was.

"I can understand that."  He said in way of response, I watched him for another moment of silence and then spoke up once more repeating what I had said about the body before his interruption.  "I don't know…if you look at the body there is evidence of death by fire.  When a body is cooked…perhaps I should not speak of this."  He said looking at me with that, 'you are a woman,' look I had gotten used to after being here for as long as I had been, and that amount of time had seemed _too _long.

"I think that being a centimeter away from the chest of a headless mummy is far more frightening than speaking of how it died."  I didn't want to add that I was dying (excuse the pun) to go down and perform as good an autopsy as I could with a lack of equipment.  I may have told him I was from America but that would not explain that odd of behavior.    "Besides, if you're focusing on the fact that I am a woman think of it that I am a nosy busy body and I want to know _why_ there is a headless mummy in the basement."  It was the first and best excuse that came through my mind.

He looked at me very carefully with those eyes; I always thought that they were gray, which I assumed was like Basil Rathbone's eyes.  They weren't, they were the color of the ocean before a storm which yes I realize I got from a book but that was all I could think of to describe them.  Anyway he just stood there staring at me for a long while, and I just stared back, fascinated by those eyes and then he turned and started walking away.  I gaped for a moment and then with an awkward hoping skip I took off after him.  

"Where are you going?"  I asked catching up to him; I had to do a cross between a jog and a trot to keep up with his long-legged stride.  He turned and looked at me, which was funny since I barely reached his shoulder.  He kept walking even though he was no longer looking ahead and sighed, 

"I am going to find Watson to have him come an inspect the body with a medical eye."  He said simply.  I shrugged and followed him at his side, chancing glances at him every once in a while.  

  
Who was he?

Well, sure he was Sherlock Holmes that was fine and dandy if you will pardon the expression of my midwestern roots.  But, what I mean is who was Sherlock Holmes, why could he see these things that no one else could?  Why did he seem to hate women so much only to help them when they had done wrong.  

Images of Irene Adler and the woman whose name eluded me at the time from "The Second Stain," filled my head, which I promptly shook fiercely.  My short hair swished about my shoulders reminding me of the present.  What was it about this man?  He infuriated me without even doing anything and whenever I was around him I had a strong urge to prove that I was better.  I didn't care, that wasn't me, it didn't bother me if people thought themselves superior to me because I knew I was better.  What was so special about this guy?

'It doesn't matter.'  I told myself as I tripped over my own feet trying to keep up with him.  'Soon enough you'll kill him and then he'll know who is better.'  I assured myself over and over, so much so it was becoming a sort of mantra to me.  Though when he slowed imperceptibly to allow me to keep up easier my mind went blank and I lost my train of thought and it took me a few moments to regain my demeanor of not caring about anyone except me.

It didn't matter how many times I said that I didn't care though, because that small annoying part of me kept insisting that it did matter for some reason, and because it simply niggled at the back of my mind I ignored it and hoped it would die rather than get larger.  

I was walking along, planning to help, at least until the maid, Miranda came up and drew me away to prepare.  "Prepare?  For what?"  I asked and to this day I believe I had every right to.

"For the party of course, a lady must take every care to appear her best."  She told me reverently.  I looked to Holmes for help and he merely nodded.  

"Yes, they must, now, Miss Lewis," When did he learn her last name? "don't let Miss Winter's sharp tongue scare you off, I am sure she would love to look her best."  That BASTARD!  Forget everything I ever thought was at all nice about him!  He wanted me out of the way and boy did he know how to push my buttons while he did it!  So he sent me to the wolves---proverbially of course Miss Lewis was in no way a wolf---while _he _got to go investigate the fact that there was a decapitated course about 20 feet from where I was expected to sleep.  People didn't keep the corpses of people who died naturally in their basement with no heads so obviously this was a murder mystery, another one!  I get to solve to murder mysteries.  Wow.  I still get shivers of excitement about thinking about catching the person who killed.  I mean that meant I was better than them since I could see their mistakes so yes.  I was doing this to prove that not only was I the best of my time, but of this time as well.  Yay!  I love enlarging my ego, it's so rewarding.


	4. COMMENTS ABOUT But don't be halfsafe

Black Rose had a point, that chapter was crap. Well. she said it much nicer than that but I feel it was not good enough, I just wanted to get it posted becuase I felt badly for bitching when people don't update and then not updating myself. I realize now it's better to take a long time and give a good quality chapter and not give you that. so I am removing this chapter and fixing it and then I should have it done around tomorrow though my laptop won't connect to the internet and my disk drive is at school so you may have to wait until monday for an update. On a lighter note I love you all and I promise that I will make this story good, now I know it's not a romance/mystery but they only let me chose two genre's so I will warn you now about upcoming fluffy-ness.  
  
~Constance Adams 


	5. But don't be halfsafe

Okay so I had to revamp this to make it better not JUST because Blackrose asks although her review did give me the hope that I could make this good so heh…

Anyway, here you FINALLY go.  The new chapter, which I hope is better but because 

~~

First thing was first she forced me to take a bath.  That wasn't so bad, even though I was soaking in my own filth and that wasn't a comforting thought.  Then I got out, wrapped myself in a robe and she bade me sit while she brushed out my hair and flitted about the room looking for things to pull together, horrified I had not brought something of my own to wear.  I bit my lip and _didn't _mention that it had been the Napolean of Crime who picked out what I did have.  I thought that at that point in time she would have been slightly disbelieving.

After a mini fitting session she announced perfect and started to tighten my corset.  Joy.  I could only thank god that Moriarty had the foresight to get me fitted for a corset.  Have I mentioned that I love evil geniuses lately?  I wore it often but since it was made for me and I had a small waist anyway it didn't do near as much damage as people in my time seem to think.  And damn did it make me look good.  The dress I wore was not my first choice, it was peach with black lace around the low collar and dripping from the sleeves, first may I mention that though I like black, it did not go well with peach.  I hate lace, it's itchy and uncomfortable and just putting on the dress I knew I would be fidgeting all night.  My hair, a source of great aggravation for poor Miss Lewis, had been pulled up into an awkward sort of bun with two combs with teeth so sharp I could have used them to kill someone, which I thought, was not such a bad idea.  She'd forced me into the monstrosity and as I looked at myself in the mirror I realized I actually liked the dress a little.  The color wasn't my favorite as we are all aware, but it was low enough for the time that it was racy but for my time it wasn't too bad, at least it didn't make me feel too uncomfortable and holy god did the corset make my breasts look big.  Sorry to offend but it really did and usually I am self-conscious about their size but about then I was ready to go apply at my local Hooters.  

The skirt was the only part I remotely didn't mind but didn't mind.  It was wide around my feet and I hoped that I wouldn't trip on the hem, _which _would not be first on my list of things to do.  She had pulled on a necklace to finish the look and it was a silver chain that dipped low and had a teardrop onyx stone on it.  Looking in the mirror I couldn't recognize myself.  I was used to wearing pants and a shirt all black and I was not used to breathing in the short and shallow gasps that a corset required, though I was quickly getting used to it, it was kind of like being at high altitude or like you had just run.  She looked me over and nodded and then reached out and pinched my cheeks, twisting hard.  I nearly killed her right there, I really did.  I supposed it was better than her smearing lipstick and crap like that on my face but a little warning would have been nice.  She smiled and nodded and I took a tentative step in the high-heeled shoes she had managed to trick me into.  They were too small and I was used to wearing sneakers.  No really, this was my first time in anything other than sneakers since I was 10.  

The only thing I could think at that point was that I was going to trip and fall flat on my face before this evening was out.  I knew it and I didn't need to be from the future to tell.  "You look lovely."  She said smiling and she had every right to.  I normally looked like I had just wondered out of a Goth club and now, I looked…well as out of character as this will seem for me I looked like a princess.  I twirled and smiled and felt like I was getting ready to go to prom.  I of course didn't have a date to this prom I was creating in my twisted little brain.  Holmes was more interested in a corpse than actually being at the dinner I was being made to dress up for, not that I was wanting to go to a prom type thing with him…Watson though, well when I was let out of the room to head to this function  he was standing there waiting for me.  He beamed like he was a dad and his daughter was going on her first date.  Joy.  Now I'm getting attached to the people I plan to ruin.  Oh was that a pang of guilt?  Naw I think that was my rib breaking.  It better have been my rib breaking.

He lead me into the dinning room where six people were all standing and talking they quieted and introduced themselves as we came in, and I just kept saying Anna Winters.  I don't like the whole social scene, that's why I chose a rather anti-social job.  But, they really made me feel rather welcome which bothered me.  They were being way too kind to a stranger from London.  It was like they wanted to hide the fact that they weren't all "Leave it to beaver"-y.

Oh don't I sound intelligent tonight?

I had been talking with all of the people of the town, trying to at least learn one person's name when I noticed Watson wasn't near me anymore and I turned to see Holmes and he speaking in one corner.  I brushed at a loose hair—apparently it was improper for a woman to wear her hair down in that time, but with mine so short there was precious little the talented Mrs. Lewis could do to it to keep it up—and slunk over to eavesdrop.  I was focusing so hard on getting over there silently and without being noticed that when Mrs. Green screamed I jumped almost a foot in the air.  I twisted in mid-leap and landed hard, the high-heel slipping out from under me in all my grace—ahem—I knew I would fall and closed my eyes, waiting for the painful senstation that would come with impact.  Instead I felt arms hook around my own.  I opened my eyes and titled my head back to look at my savior.  Staring back at me with a bemused smirk on his face was Sherlock Holmes.  Dammit.  I stood quickly and looked around, no one _seemed _to have noticed other than of course Sherlock and Watson so I turned to the woman who was standing just inside the door of the room we were all in.  I focused on her as much as I could.  No one had ever caught me when I was falling before.  Not once.  And I wished that he had let me fall to tell the absolute truth.  I didn't want him being nice to me because I would then feel like I was in debt to him and I would be all pissed when I finally had to kill him.  So I just thought back to that annoying smirk and the urge to hit him wiped out the urge to thank him.

"IT'S BURNING!"  She screamed again, louder catching my attention away from my ponderings.  It sounded like she was pleading, begging us to save her from the memories she was relieving. As she spoke, yelled, a little froth formed at the corners of her mouth as the muscles around her left eye twitched uncontrollably.  I took a small half-step forward, tentatively reaching out, hoping that she wasn't going to start having a seizure.  She fell to the floor then, in a dead faint Watson announced, as he was one of the first to rush to her side.  I felt the daughter of Mr. Smith, the owner of a mansion with huge suits of amour in front of it, grasp my arm tightly and scream.  I held my free hand over both her own and shushed her softly, trying to calm the poor girl.  When I was as innocent as she was I am sure that I would have handled this just as poorly.  Still, it was not unlike comforting a small child.  Mr. Smith came up to us then and smiled sadly at me.

"That's Mrs. Green, she's not been right in the head since her son died a few years back.  We try and take care of her and she's been getting better lately but she still has…"  He took a deep breath as though to find a kinder word than what he was thinking, "Episodes…every now and again.  Come along Rose, we'll take care of Mrs. Green."  He said prying his daughter from him limp arm.  I winced and rubbed the finger marks that were forming.  I wondered about her though, and the thing I wanted to know most was how had her son died to disturb her so and was it a part of whatever this town was hiding.

"She owns the Ivy mansion."  Mr. Glass said, walking up to me, seeking to comfort me as I was the only woman without someone to hold her, of course I was also the only one who was more worried about the woman than scared of her.  He was the owner of what was in my opinion the best of all the mansions, his was a mansion with huge, intricate stained-glass windows.  I wished we had been aloud to stay there instead of in this home but it was just a little niggling thought in the back of my head, overshadowed by more important questions and theories.

"Yes Mr. Glass, just as you own the house with those big beautiful windows no?"  I asked wanting to make sure my theory on the houses was correct.  The way his eyes grew to be huge told me I was indeed correct.  I pray my readers believe me when I say I was not trying to show off.  To know that I could remember a person's home by what their name was, was important, for I was a firm believer in the fact that a home said a lot about a person as a whole.  Though what happened next I must admit was a bit of me showing off.  I am the first to admit I have a bit of an ego on me when the occasion calls for it.

"Why how did you know?"  He asked leading me away from her limp body that was being carried to one of the many guest bedrooms.  All the other people were walking through a large arching doorway that opened into the dinning room where a large array of food was skillfully displayed.  He released me before I started speaking and I smiled pleasantly.

"Well," Holmes was nearby so I thought I would get on his nerves for sending me off to that evil woman who made me get into this hulking dress, yes I know I had to wear it to fit in, that doesn't make it any less demeaning.  "Mr. Windom owned this mansion which has very prominent weather veins, and Mrs. Green owned the mansion covered in Ivy and so on and so forth and so I simply assumed that the people's names corresponded with which home they owned.  Windom, wind, weather veins, Green, plants, ivy."  I could almost hear the great detective's teeth gnash together at the thought of someone assuming something instead of deducing it properly.  I ignored him though and focused all my attention on Mr. Glass who smiled and dismissed himself politely as he slowly drifted away to say hello to someone else as Mr. Windom came over to say hello.  I was actually feeling rather confident at this point, this was just like parties back home, you rotate around talking small talk with people.  Yeah, I could handle this easily enough.  He started talking about how lovely the sky was at night and I would be able to see so many more stars than in London, he wanted to show me.  I liked the stars and hey if he was hitting on me he liked me and if he liked me than I had a chance of squeezing more information from him.  Allow me a moment of triumph for that is a good thing.

"Sir do you think I could ask you one question?"  Holmes asked catching up to us just before we reached the balcony.  Mr. Windom smiled and nodded, ever the delighted host.  Of course Holmes being him could not ask a normal question; _no…_He opens his mouth and very bluntly asks, "Why do you have a headless mummy in the basement?"  For a moment Mr. Windom's hand tightened painfully around my own which rested in the crook of his arm, then the feeling passed and he motioned for Holmes and Watson to follow him.  I followed and he looked at me carefully.  I wanted to snap that he hadn't been worried about the "fragile" woman a moment prior when he had crushed her hand, but thought better of it.

"She came here because I think she may be of some help to this case."  Holmes said and I was allowed to follow the two men out onto the balcony.  He pointed to the burned out brick building that used to be a Synagogue.  "That was where the girl was when she was murdered.  Missionaries built it over a hundred years ago, this was the only land they could get and they were just making a small sort of neighborhood for their try at bettering the world.  There were seven of them and they came seeking "Eden's Apple."  It burned down twenty-seven years ago with the family of two parents and their seven children inside.  The girl was inside to atone for her sins before her wedding; it is a tradition in our town.

"The note in blood on the floor said that the seventh mummy had the bride's head.  The mummies now…well the mummy you saw has been the guardian angel of this village for more generations than I can count.  Each home has one mummy and then the church has one too, each has a different body part missing from its body.  I do not know the full story, the records were always there but I never read them, there was always tomorrow and then they were gone."  He said, and he almost seemed sad about it, but it still didn't sit right with me.  That mummy hadn't looked like the mummies I saw on the History Channel, and I didn't expect it to look exactly alike but it was just so different…

I turned and left, walking back inside after a long hard look at the shell of the building, the night was cold and the dress was light, plus did I care to hear any more lies.  At that point I didn't yet know what was going on but I knew that that bullspit about the guardian angel was just that.  Bullspit.  And pardon my language; I grew up in the Bible belt.

"You are Mr. Holmes's lover?"  A man asked approaching me.  I started and looked at him and laughed until tears had gathered in the corners of my eyes.  The words he'd actually spoke just seemed so funny back then.  Now I sit here wondering if I should even mention that part, I don't understand what was so funny anymore.  But, I ramble.

"No, I do not think Mister Holmes would like a lover."  I would have added that I was just using him for sex if it had been my own time.  Then I realized that even in this time that was pretty rude and I should cover my ass before he suspected something.  "Sorry sir, I was rude."  I justified, "The…uh…hysterics of the night had taken their toll on me in an odd way."  I lied, trying to come up with a better excuse an unable.  I didn't even find it all that funny then but for some reason my stupid subconscious had decided to cover whatever I was thinking with laughter at the thought that I was Holmes's lover.  "I am however helping him on this case as much as I can, can I still be of some help?"  I asked trying to show concern in my eyes.  So long they had been dead that showing emotions I didn't feel was easier than it should have been.  I often thought I should have been an actor but I enjoy this lifestyle too much to stop for something so trivial.

The man looked so sad.  He looked to where Holmes and Mr. Windom were on the balcony talking.  "I loved her."  He whispered, tears gathering in his eyes.  Eyes I suddenly realized mirrored my own, they were dead…yes tears were in them but the sadness was missing.  He shook his head and very nearly scampered away, but now my interest was peaked.  He had dead eyes.  Why would you have dead eyes?  Assassin?  No, he wasn't built for it, he was a little overweight and moved with a slow measured sort of pace.  Okay so what was he…?  I didn't know having never really loved, as trite as _that _sounds, so maybe you could get that way at the death of a loved one.  I sighed and shook my head, unsure of what was going on, unsure of what it was I was even _thinking _at that point.

I took up a crystal glass offered to my by a servant and drank the contents slowly.  The wine was rich and nicer than what I had tried other times in my life.  Instantly my insides were warm and I sighed as contentedly as I could, enjoying the soft waltz that was playing in the background somewhere.  The rest of the evening was filled with the soft light of candles and the softer buzz of conversation.  I didn't speak to Holmes again, I was gossiping with the ladies, who in my eyes are highly underused resources.  And this is why, I always have found that once they trust you and if it is considered gossip women are willing to tell you nearly anything in an attempt to beat _your _juiciest gossip.  I of course had to trade information of London in return for this to work so I just made up things about sirs and ladies that probably didn't exist.  I made it up and it was creative enough to amuse them even if they didn't know the people.  They pointed out the man who had been the girl's fiancée, he had sort of cover over his head with holes for his eyes and I raised an eyebrow but they went on to explain that he was very sickly and so he wore that to hide his face.

That night went quickly after I met the stranger, he was a big part of this, I didn't know how, but he was.  I'd seen that church and the bars on that roof for the skylight were too small for a human to fit through…so what happened to her.  I was close to actually beating on my head to try and get an answer out of the organ that refused to respond.  When I finally did fall asleep I was awoken by a scream, bloodcurdling scream to elaborate.  I shout out of bed, forgot my housecoat went back for it, and ran into the hall, hoping I hadn't missed anything good as sick as that may sound.  I trusted my eyes in the dark and slid to a halt outside where Holmes and Watson already were.  Lestrade was looking at me with a raised eyebrow and I peered in around Holmes, bending at the waist to look between his waist and the doorframe since I had no hope of seeing over his shoulder.  Mr. Glass was hanging from the ceiling with his right leg missing.  Blood still gushed from the wound and I knew right away it had not been her scream so I assumed that it had been a maid who found her, and writing on the floor in blood I read, "The Seventh Mummy's revenge is not over."  Whoever was doing this; they had style I had to admit.

I almost regretted having to catch them since I would like to have this guy tutor me, after all I think it's just about everyone who does anything that says that people will always have more to learn about everything there is no matter how well they know it.  Then again I had to admit it was easier in this time with no DNA, no fingerprints, no alarms, nothing cool like that.  I would have to see how much fun I could have with this time.  I shook my head and drew myself back to the task at hand.  Watson was ushering me away and I was arguing that I wanted to help and offer my opinion but he would hear nothing of it.  So I was ushered off and away from all the action.  I knew that he was trying to do what he thought best and I should have been touched but I was kind of offended that he thought I could be so easily spooked.

That said I was struggling a little as he tried to haul me away, which I regret now but at that point I was so desperate to prove that I didn't give half a rat's ass what they thought or felt that I didn't care.  However, if I had not been struggling and dragging my feet, I would not have heard Mr. Clock's next words which would end up being a large part of this case.

"We've been cursed by _him_!"  He announced quietly, his words growing in strength as anger lit up his face, normally so pale and stotic.  "All six of us from that day will surely be killed."  He announced.  My eyebrows shot up and my eyes widened.  _Now _it was getting interesting, and there to the side, was the fiancée in his mask.  Yeah, I thought it was operatic too.  Apparently he was hypersensitive to light and he wore that to keep his face from literally cooking in the light of day…I think he was being a baby but the way he always lingered on the sidelines had me interested to a very high degree.

~~

Okay so those who have actually read this manga know what happens but the end of the mystery isn't the end of the story.  Remember, she's got her own agenda that's supposed to come first before the mystery.  W00t now it's gonna start getting good.  And those who have read it…I so wanted Holmes to go through what Hajime did when Miyuki came out of her room for the party, but it didn't fit *moans* damn.  That would have been hilarious.


End file.
